Lost LA: Uncovering the Forgotten Historical Landmarks of Los Angeles

First stop on our historical treasure hunt: Fort Moore Pioneer Memorial on Hill Street. This massive concrete relief mural is literally the largest bas-relief military monument in the United States, yet somehow flies completely under the radar. Built in 1957, it commemorates the Mormon Battalion and the U.S. 1st Dragoons who raised the American flag in Los Angeles for the first time on July 4th, 1847.

What strikes me most about this place is the contrast—it's like finding a vintage Dior piece at a mall clearance rack. You're standing in downtown surrounded by sleek skyscrapers, but this 78-foot-wide concrete masterpiece transports you to frontier LA. The waterfall feature was recently restored after being dry for decades (talk about a comeback season), and the detailing in the sculptural work gives me the same appreciation I feel examining hand-stitched garments from heritage fashion houses.

I spent about an hour here sketching some of the design elements in my travel journal that I carry everywhere. There's something about putting pen to paper that helps me absorb details better than just snapping pics on my phone. Plus, the elevated position gives you a killer view of downtown that most tourist guides completely miss.

Everyone knows Olvera Street for the tourist-trap vendors and overpriced restaurants, but most visitors completely miss the historical core that makes this place significant. The Avila Adobe, built in 1818, is literally the oldest standing residence in LA, and it's hiding in plain sight just steps from the marketplace chaos.

Walking through the adobe's rooms feels like stepping into a time machine. The thick walls create this incredible microclimate—naturally cool even on scorching LA afternoons. I was blown away by the period furnishings and how they've preserved the original floor plan. As someone who spends their career analyzing how products are presented in retail spaces, I found the museum's curation absolutely fascinating—they've managed to display historical artifacts in a way that tells a coherent story without feeling stuffy.

The courtyard garden out back is my secret spot for a moment of zen before hitting the rest of El Pueblo. I sat there sketching and people-watching with my portable watercolor set which is perfect for adding quick color to travel sketches. The contrast between the carefully preserved adobe and the tourist marketplace just steps away feels like the perfect metaphor for LA itself—authentic history and commercial spectacle existing side by side.

If you've seen Grease or Terminator 2, you've glimpsed the LA River, but most visitors (and even locals) have no idea about the architectural marvels spanning this concrete channel. The collection of bridges built between 1910-1930 represents one of the most impressive sets of historic spans in any American city—they're like a forgotten outdoor museum of industrial design.

My favorite is the Gothic-inspired 4th Street Bridge (officially the 4th Street Viaduct). Built in 1931, it features these incredible concrete arches with detailing that would look at home on a European cathedral. The Beaux Arts-style 1st Street Bridge gives me similar vibes to the grand department stores of the early 20th century—ornate yet functional, designed to impress.

I spent a Sunday morning biking along the LA River path with my compact binoculars to spot architectural details from the bike path. The contrast between these ornate concrete masterpieces and the graffiti-covered channel below creates this uniquely LA juxtaposition—like finding vintage architectural couture in the middle of an urban wasteland.

Pro tip: The recently completed 6th Street Viaduct (replacing the 1932 original) now connects Boyle Heights and the Arts District with a dedicated pedestrian and cyclist path. It makes for an incredible sunset walk with downtown views that rival any high-end rooftop bar—but completely free.

Most visitors have no idea that LA once had a thriving Victorian neighborhood that rivaled San Francisco's painted ladies. While much was lost to development, Carroll Avenue in Angeleno Heights preserves the largest concentration of Victorian-era homes in the city. Walking this street feels like stepping onto a movie set—which it literally has been for everything from Thriller to Mad Men.

The craftsmanship on these 1880s homes is next level. As someone who obsesses over construction details in fashion, I'm equally drawn to the intricate woodwork, the ornate trim, and the architectural equivalent of couture techniques. The Phillips House (built 1887) with its asymmetrical design and ornate detailing is basically the architectural equivalent of an Alexander McQueen runway piece—dramatic, detailed, and impossible to ignore.

I took a self-guided walking tour using a guidebook that's been essential for discovering these hidden gems. The neighborhood sits on steep hills that provide dramatic views of downtown, creating this surreal visual where Victorian gingerbread houses frame modern skyscrapers in the background.

The contrast between these preserved architectural treasures and the surrounding modern city reminds me of how fashion constantly references historical elements while creating something new. This neighborhood is like the vintage archive that modern LA was built upon—preserved but largely forgotten except by those who know where to look.

Beneath the streets of downtown LA lies a network of prohibition-era tunnels that once connected speakeasies, government buildings, and banks. Most Angelenos don't even know they exist, but with a bit of insider knowledge, you can actually explore sections of this underground world.

The entrance near the Hall of Records (320 W. Temple St) is my favorite starting point. These concrete passages feel like stepping into a film noir set—dimly lit, slightly eerie, and completely disconnected from the sun-drenched LA above. During Prohibition, these tunnels allowed patrons to move between drinking establishments without being seen by police. Later, they were used to transport money between banks and even prisoners between the courthouse and jail.

I spent an afternoon exploring with my powerful flashlight which was absolutely essential as lighting down here is minimal at best. The tunnel walls are now covered in street art, creating this fascinating timeline where 1920s infrastructure meets contemporary urban expression.

The most accessible section runs from the Hall of Records to the Civic Center, but fair warning: parts can be closed unexpectedly for maintenance or security reasons. When you emerge back into the California sunshine, the contrast is jarring—like finding a secret sample sale hidden beneath a mainstream mall.